


I'll Eat You Up I Love You So

by Riachinko



Category: Beauty and the Beast (2017)
Genre: Birthday Sex, Blow Jobs, Dubious Consent, Excessive Drinking, Feeding, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-23
Updated: 2018-02-23
Packaged: 2019-03-23 00:45:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13776111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Riachinko/pseuds/Riachinko
Summary: It's LeFou's birthday and Gaston has a few tasty birthday surprises for him.





	I'll Eat You Up I Love You So

**Author's Note:**

> Happy b-day Josh lol

It’s chilly when LeFou wakes, his bedroom window encrusted with ice and framed with snow. Still, he can hear the birds on his neighbour’s roof chirping, and the sun seems to be shining well enough, finding its way through the slits in his curtains. To most, it shouldn’t be a miserable day in the least.

But it’s February 23rd.

He groans; curls in on himself and throws the quilts up over his head.

LeFou doesn’t _dislike_ his birthday. He doesn’t dislike the free drinks at the tavern, or his extra allowance of food - his gut is proof of his 28 years of not disliking drinks or food. But he hates the cold, and doesn’t much appreciate having to make appearances when all he’d really like to do is use the day as an excuse to sleep and refresh himself.

It isn’t as though people make it a habit to remember his birthday - sure, Stanley remembers it more often than not, as well as Père Robert every year without fail - but Villeneuve as a whole would not be moved to acknowledge LeFou’s birthday were it not for--

“ _Joyeuse fête_ , Lazare, my dear friend!” Gaston bounds into LeFou’s quarters to find a lump of blankets softly breathing. “Another year older and wiser, LeFou! Don’t waste it in bed!”

“It’s my birthday wish,” LeFou mumbles, wrapping the blankets even further beneath him in anticipation of what’s to come.

Gaston tugs.

The quilts don’t remove themselves so easily, though, and he tugs stubbornly again.

“Gaston, please,” LeFou growls, weary, “I want to celebrate keeping both feet out of the grave one year longer, by sleeping.”

Another tug.

“I let you sleep late on _your_ birthday.”

“I know,” Gaston grins callously, were LeFou to see it, “it’s one of the things I appreciate most about you.”

With a final mighty pull, LeFou is pulled free of the blankets and flops down against his withered mattress with only in his night clothes to keep him warm. The draft from the window finds him nearly immediately and sends a shiver down his back.

“You’ll be glad you got out of bed, because your selfless Captain has arranged for a morning feast.”

Sure enough, outside of the blankets, the house is full of rich scents of fruit and eggs and bread. The floorboards are damn cold on his feet, but as he slips on his banyan and allows Gaston to guide him further into the sitting room, with the fire roaring by the kitchen, the chill of the winter season is easily forgotten. But the genuine, proud smile on Gaston’s face as he reveals his handiwork is the warmest thing of all.

There’s a full table spread of crêpes and hard boiled eggs before them; orange halves and blackberries in broccoli and lettuce garnish. Earl Grey tea steeps near both of their plates, accompanied by fresh, steaming bread rolls.

And then there’s a bowl of butter biscuits; a sizable almond tart.

“You arranged all of this?”

Gaston frowns. “It doesn’t take a genius to crack some eggs and pick some berries.”

“No,” LeFou smiles, “no, it’s just... a nice surprise, that’s all. Thank you, selfless Captain.”

Gaston’s stomach growls and LeFou chokes down a giggle. He’s exhausted and famished and grateful for not having to prepare a meal for himself. He pulls out a chair for Gaston and one for himself as Gaston stands to pour them tea.

The first bite of crêpe with barberry purée has LeFou closing his eyes, savouring the sweet and bitter taste of it. “Mm!” he purrs, as much of a showy compliment as it is sincere.

Now that breakfast is underway, it isn’t the most unusual of mornings. Their banter and idle chatter flows like normal. LeFou discusses errands; they have some furs ready for trade, and Gaston wishes to travel a town over to get the best money for them. There’s a pretty new woman in town...but she’s married. There’s a traveling salesman set up shop in the town centre with goods from Paris.

It isn’t unnoticeable, however, that Gaston has scarcely taken his eyes off of LeFou’s lips since they sat down to eat. As lovely as his friend’s attentions are, LeFou finds himself bothered under the scrutiny.

“Is something the matter, Gaston?”  

“You look like a cherub in heaven when you eat,” he replies, eyes glassy behind heavy eyelids.

LeFou smiles, though his brow twitches in a way that betrays his unsurety. “It’s...it’s very tasty, Gaston, thank you.”

“Of course it would be,” the man scoffs, still holding that dopey, distant look that seems foreign to LeFou. “I wouldn’t purchase anything but the best ingredients for one’s birthday celebration. Not for myself, and not for my closest compatriot.”

He reaches forward to cut LeFou’s egg in half, scooping its hard boiled bottom up onto his fork. LeFou watches the egg make its way delicately in front of his face, merely two centimetres from his lips that have darkened to match the blush rising from his neck to his cheeks.

“Will you indulge me?” Gaston says simply. “Open up.”

Eyes wide, face flush, LeFou parts his lips ever so slightly with surprise; contemplates obeying, but, “I’m capable of feeding myself.”

Annoyance washes over Gaston’s features - the twitch in the corner of his mouth, the crease in his forehead. “ _LeFou_ ,” he warns, “you’re usually eager to open your mouth for me.”

They stare at each other for a silent moment, forkful of egg still wavering in front of LeFou’s face--

And LeFou leans forward to nip it off the fork.

“If you’re going to be like that.”

The top half of the egg is scooped up and fed to LeFou in the same manner, Gaston watching keenly as LeFou puffs his cheeks and chews; watching his adam’s apple bob when he swallows. He partakes of his own egg before stabbing into the blackberries and lifting his fork again to reach LeFou’s lips, LeFou obliging him, his tongue darting out just enough to accept them with ease. When his lips close around the utensil, he smiles. Hums as Gaston withdraws the fork.

“Do you have ulterior motives, Gaston?” he says innocently, though the humour in his voice is inescapable. He sips his tea pinky-up, and that beautiful, teasing grin is visible on either side of the teacup.

“I like to see you happy,” he says. “I like to see you soft and glowing and satisfied. And I like to be the cause of it.”

“You’re always the cause of my happiness,” LeFou purrs.

“Mm,” Gaston hums. “Then I suppose I have ulterior motives.”

He breaks LeFou’s bread roll and runs a butter knife across its doughy inner. It smells salty and sweet, and when Gaston offers it, LeFou takes a playful bite eagerly, tongue darting out to lick the butter from his upper lip.

“Good?”

“Delicious,” LeFou nods, snatching the rest of the buttered roll from Gaston’s hand. “A fork is one thing, but I don’t need to you hand feed me, thanks.”

They each finish their crêpes and vegetables in relative silence, Gaston downing the remainder of the blackberries when his stomach growls yet again. He cracks several raw eggs into his teacup once it’s empty and downs that as well, much to LeFou’s chagrin.

It isn’t an awkward silence, though there exists an odd tension that’s maybe sexual, maybe not. LeFou has never had anyone but his mother feed him, when he was very young, but he’s aware of the submissive suggestion of the act.

“And what about the almond tart? Are we saving it?” LeFou finally asks while Gaston is peeling an orange.

When Gaston remains quiet, he reaches for the tart himself, but Gaston slaps his hand away.

“Finish your breakfast first,” he says, stabbing several segments of orange through with his fork. They’re all but stuffed into LeFou’s open mouth, and Gaston lunges forward over the table to follow, with a hand cupped to his friend’s cheek and eager lips pressing to LeFou’s.

LeFou pushes away from Gaston enough to swallow and returns to the kiss, sour citrus passed back and forth on their tongues.

It takes LeFou’s breath away to see Gaston pull back; chest heaving, dark, feral eyes on his. He skewers several more pieces of orange from his plate and brings them to LeFou.

“Eat.”

LeFou does, licking his lips, playing Gaston’s strange game; teeth gently plucking each segment from the fork. He sips from his tea when he can, while Gaston fills his fork with more fruit, more vegetables, more bread.

He showers LeFou with kisses - on his fingers, his hand, his arms, anything he can reach to encourage LeFou to finish the meal, until only the biscuits and almond tart remains and LeFou is dabbing at his mouth with a napkin.  

“Let’s save the tart,” LeFou coughs. “You’ve certainly made sure that my birthday feast is a filling one.”

He backs his chair across the floorboards to raise from his seat, but before he gets far, Gaston is there, over him, hand on his shoulder to keep him in place.

“I’ll be offended if you don’t finish your meal.”

LeFou rolls his eyes. “I don’t think that’s true.”

With another attempt to rise from his seat, LeFou is pushed back down, and then Gaston is sitting in his lap; straddling his hips so that they’re chest to chest, and Gaston is so _muscular_ and _heavy_ , and LeFou yelps in his throat with the surprise of it all. Their groins are together but the weight of Gaston against his abdomen is doing nothing for him; Gaston leaning in on his too-full gut is making him halfway sick.

“Gast--”

They kiss.

It’s a mess, LeFou wanting to give into it, but too uncomfortable to be any good. Gaston’s tongue invades him like it’s trying to pick any little bit of food left between LeFou’s teeth. It’s voracious.

It’s wonderful.

Without even looking, Gaston stabs his fork into the tart across the table and draws it to them. He brings the dish up under their chins; blindly scoops up a bite-sized piece of tart and breaks their kiss with a trail of saliva between them.

“Gaston,” LeFou pants, accepting the piece of tart he’s being fed, but groaning as he swallows it down, “stop.”

“You’re so good,” and Gaston sounds delirious now, hips rocking against LeFou’s as he feeds his confidant another piece. “Aren’t you enjoying this?”

It’s delicious, the taste of explodes across LeFou’s tongue: the strong sapidity of blanched almonds with a hint of lemon citrus. Perfectly sweet - likely an expensive dessert, and one that LeFou would never have thought to purchase for himself.

“Mmph--”

He takes another piece of tart into his mouth, and another - Gaston feeding him his dessert faster than LeFou can handle. His cheeks bulge while he chews and swallows, breathing heavily, starting to sweat under Gaston’s weight and body heat. Gaston eats a piece of the tart himself and LeFou is grateful for it - his jaw aches from chewing so much.

“When you’re a disheveled mess, you look outlandishly attractive, LeFou. Nearly as handsome as me,” Gaston snides, tongue flicking over his lips; biting his lower lip gleefully. “Your tea’s likely gone cold, but it’ll help you to swallow the rest of this down…”

And then he’s pouring tea into LeFou’s gagging mouth; LeFou grabbing angrily at the teacup - “You’re going to drown me!” - and sipping from it on his own.

They finish their breakfast with Gaston taking a bite, then LeFou, sharing back and forth until the tart is gone, and the butter biscuits sit menacingly alone at the table.

LeFou’s stomach grumbles, and Gaston’s eyebrows practically shoot up to his hairline. “Still hungry?”

“I feel like I’m going to throw up,” LeFou grunts. “Don’t you dare feed me those biscuits.”

Gaston just smirks in response; runs a hand through LeFou’s long, dark waves of hair. He licks a stripe from his jawline to the lobe of his friend’s left ear and shuffles in his seat to stand. The relief on his gut is marvelous, regardless of the blood that’s rushed downwards to make Lefou uncomfortable in other ways.

Gaston’s eyes narrow; he adjusts the erection in his trousers so that he can comfortably walk about. “I’ll clear the table, another of my gifts to you,” he says. “I thought perhaps you’ll want to nap before we head to the tavern this evening.”

LeFou’s eyes slip closed, and he nods. “Mm, that sounds nice.”

Gaston drags him up from the chair, hand at the small of his back for support as they make the short trek together to LeFou’s quarters. Every step to the bed is gut-wrenching. LeFou inwardly curses Gaston for having such strange tastes; curses himself for giving into them.

He lays on his back, cocooning himself in his many quilts.

“Shall I come ‘round to get you this evening, or will I meet you at the tavern?” Gaston asks, but the second LeFou’s head touches his pillow, he’s out.

  


 

  


In the evening, LeFou is escorted to the tavern by Stanley and Tom.

“Gaston was bragging about the breakfast he had arranged for you,” Stanley says softly, smile a mile wide. “It’s good that you have a hearty meal in you, you’re bound to get a lot of drinks tonight,” he laughs.

“Well don’t expect much from me,” Tom laughs along. “Gaston’s pockets are deeper than mine.” He holds the tavern door open for his friends, LeFou nodding in thanks as they enter.

“ _Bon anniversaire_ , Monsieur LeFou,” a barmaid, Céline, chirps as he makes his way down the stairs. She’s ready with a stein of ale for him, which he gladly accepts as Gaston shouts and waves him over to their usual spot.

“Good evening, Gaston.”

It’s cold in the tavern, but Gaston sits by the fire, and LeFou is thankful to have an automatic ticket to a seat there. He removes his hat but keeps his coat on while he warms his hands and the tip of his nose.

“Are you feeling well, LeFou?” he cheers.

The truth is that LeFou is starving. It must be about seven o’clock by now, and he hasn’t eaten since his gluttonous breakfast force-feeding. He flushes remembering it - feels slightly sick thinking about how heavy he feels because of it - but then his stomach is growling angrily, and he can’t wait to have another good meal in him.

“I’m hungry,” LeFou replies.

The glimmer in Gaston’s eyes is obvious; it both thrills and horrifies LeFou, well aware of Gaston’s interest in toying with him. His smile is brilliant, and makes LeFou beam as well; makes him feel like it’s just the two of them in the tavern.

“Sit and drink LeFou, I’ll order you the _tourin d'ail doux_. I know it’s your favourite,” Gaston beams.

“It’s your favourite,” LeFou corrects, but Gaston has already told Céline to bring two.

“Perfect, I’m famished.” Gaston throws his arm around LeFou’s shoulders, jostling him about.

He raises his stein and coaxes his friends to do the same. LeFou cheerfully raises his half-full stein as well, the mood about them contagious. “Cheers, LeFou, my dearest friend!” Gaston clinks his stein to LeFou’s, and the tavern erupts in cheers and well-wishes.

They chug back the last of their drinks. Stanley pushes a glass of whiskey onto him. Dick buys the five of them a round of mead. LeFou doesn’t take his time in finishing the drinks served to them; he knows in times like these, another one is always on its way.

As the meals Gaston has ordered arrive at their table, LeFou turns to his friend. It’s a Friday night, so the tavern isn’t barren, but the distinct lack of female patrons means that Gaston and LeFou have slightly more privacy than usual. He almost wonders if Gaston paid them to stay home tonight, and the thought makes his face hot.

“You always remember my birthday,” LeFou says softly into his soup, playing with it to get a decent spoonful. “It isn’t a day that needs remembering, I’m not a Saint...or you.”

Gaston drinks deeply from his stein, licking his lips as he sets it down. “I could never forget it, it was the first day we went hunting together in the winter as children. You were eleven, do you remember?”

“I remember being cold and unsuccessful.”

“Nonsense,” Gaston rebukes, “I shot down three geese that day, and you successfully retrieved them!”

LeFou chuckles dryly.

Dick turns to them then, drink in hand. “Do you remember when we took you to a brothel for your sixteenth birthday?”

“I remember being unsuccessful at that, as well.”

LeFou can’t stop the smile blossoming from cheek to cheek. It touches him that his friends remember the events in his life that he would have little reason to remember.

“I remember being _particularly_ successful at that,” Gaston laughs, loud and heartily with the circle of their friends; slapping LeFou’s thigh as the laughter dies down. “A birthday comes but once a year, so why not celebrate it? We have the means.”

Tom pushes a full stein of ale across the table and LeFou takes it; decides Gaston’s right, and gulps it down at once while Tom, Dick and Stanley applaud and cheer.

When he lowers his stein, LeFou notices from the corner of his eye that Gaston has his chin in hand, watching LeFou much like he had in the morning. He’s sure he’s blushing; prays that the dim lighting in the tavern won’t betray him. He wishes Gaston was more covert in his desires.

“I thought you were hungry,” Gaston says idly once their crew has left to play darts.

“I am.” The tourin is agreeable, but burns his throat going down - the result of maybe too much garlic and onion. “It’s just so thick, I need to drink to get it down.”

Expression cold, Gaston passes him his beer, “Here you go, then.”

At first, LeFou has the mind to be furious. Typically he’d be more than willing to go along with Gaston’s whims, but Gaston’s obsession with his eating is....unconventional at best. But the alcohol is in his system and it’s his damn birthday, and he throws caution to the wind. If it pleases Gaston, Gaston will please him. That’s how it always works.

He spoons the soup into his mouth, eyes on Gaston’s as he does so. He drinks Gaston’s ale, watching Gaston’s gaze soften with each slurp and sip. He watches as Gaston splits a bread roll and runs it along LeFou’s near-empty bowl to soak up its garlicky remnants, despite his own bowl being half-full of tourin itself.

Gaston holds one half of the bread to LeFou’s face.

“Are you serious?” he hisses. “Here?”

“I feed women all the time,” Gaston smirks. “Who will take notice?”

With a furrowed brow and his heart in overdrive, LeFou leans in and quickly bites the roll out of Gaston’s hand. Rather than withdrawing, however, Gaston’s forefinger follows the roll into his friend’s mouth, poking it in deep. It’s LeFou who pulls away, blushing furiously and chewing fast; eyes darting around the room, ready to explain away Gaston’s odd behaviour.

Gaston watches him swallow, like a starving wolf watching a wounded deer.

A second bowl is pushed in front of LeFou: Gaston’s partially-eaten tourin. “I’m full,” Gaston shrugs, “can you finish this? I’d hate to waste the money.”

“Order us some more drinks, then,” LeFou says flatly, tucking a curl of loose hair behind his ear. “If you want to watch me eat, I might as well be drunk.”

With a sultry grin, Gaston raises a finger, and soon Clothilde is bringing them beer and clearing the empty plates from in front of them. LeFou watches - spoon to his lips - as Gaston whispers to her; watches her nod and leave.

Each heavy spoonful of soup weighs on him until his stomach is full and the bowl is empty. He eats the second half of the bread roll by himself, not wanting to deal with the embarrassment of being hand-fed again.

“You’re feeling better now, hm?” Gaston slaps him on the back, causing him to lurch forward in discomfort.

“Mm-hm,” LeFou coughs, sipping sweet ale down. Drinking to calm his throat, to cool him off. He feels dizzy, he feels sick. He feels impossibly horny.

Accordion music fills the room, nearly sweeping LeFou away. He barely even notices Clothilde slip in beside him, setting down a meticulously-piped pound cake before making a wordless retreat.

“Another birthday surprise for you, _mon frère_.”

“This--” LeFou starts. His vision is off. His mind is static.

Dick has wandered back over to their table, having lost his game of darts. He sits beside LeFou, patting his back. “You going to share that, LeFou?” He laughs, and Gaston joins him, fakely.

“G-Gaston, the money you spent on a cake would have been better spent elsewhere,” LeFou protests. He’s touched by the gesture but absolutely not in the mood to eat anything sweet.

He chugs the last of his present drink and part of whatever alcohol Dick has passed him, but nearly spits when Gaston leans into whisper in his ear, “The cost was worth being able to lick it off of you.”

And then LeFou is breathing hard; stands on wobbly legs; grabs the tableside while his vision darkens. He can hear Dick ask if he’s okay, can vaguely make out Gaston sitting up in his seat, ready for action.

“I need to piss,” LeFou slurs.

And then everything goes black.

  


 

  


He wakes up flat on his back in his home, sprawled across his unmade bed. His vision is blurred - the room is spinning. “Eugh,” he groans, and then there’s Gaston hovering over him with a large cup of water.

“You fainted, LeFou,” Gaston says softly. “I knew you were less capable of holding your drink than me, but--”

“My entire body aches.”

It’s only halfway intelligible, as LeFou slaps his hands over his eyes and drags them down his face. He’s fully aware that his feet are freezing; his fingertips are cold as well and feel blissful against his hot, sweat-soaked face.

“And my head...”

“You fell over a stool and blacked out on a table on your way out of the tavern,” Gaston laughs. “It was quite spectacular.”

Gaston looks as though he’s had a hell of a time tending to his drunken partner: his hair is loose, his jacket and waistcoat removed with his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He smiles softly down at his friend, gaze locked on LeFou’s pink eyes. “It’s usually you taking care of me in these situations, isn’t it? Drink some water.”

He coaches LeFou to sit up; gathers the pillows up behind him so that LeFou can prop himself against them, all the while moaning and taking drawn out gasps so as not to further upset his stomach.

When he sips the water, it’s a gentle reprieve. His lashes flutter as he struggles to keep his eyes open.

“Keep drinking,” Gaston pushes, “It’ll help sober you up some.”

LeFou groans and turns his head away from the cup. “I can’t finish it,” he whines, “I’m full.”

They stare wordlessly at each other until LeFou returns to the cup, pouting into it as he sips the remainder of its contents. Water dribbles from the corners of his mouth down his chin, Gaston following each droplet with eager eyes.

A calloused thumb swipes over the stubble along LeFou’s jawline, collecting the water and leaving LeFou’s face dry; making his breath hitch.

“If you’re well enough to drink, give me a moment to fetch your cake. Eating will help to absorb the alcohol.”

LeFou’s eyes drift closed and he nods without thinking as Gaston removes himself from the bed.

When Gaston reenters the bedroom - untouched pound cake in both hands - LeFou isn’t where he’d left him. “LeFou?” Rather, he’s up on the balls of his feet, struggling with the bedroom window. “What are you doing?”

“S’hot in here, I’m trying to open the window.”

“You’ll catch pneumonia if you let in that cold,” Gaston’s brow furrows but his smirk remains - unseen by LeFou - as he clears the night table to make room for the cake.

“It’s frozen shut anyway,” LeFou murmurs, leaning his forehead against the window pane and pressing as much of his chest and forearms against the cool glass as possible. His hands tap out an uneven rhythm against the glass; his hips rock gently against the wall.

“Do you want to fuck me, Gaston?”

Gaston blinks.

“You really are drunk, aren’t you?” he laughs; sweeps in behind LeFou to guide him back to the bed, speaking lowly in his ear, as soft as his footsteps, “But anything is in the cards.”

Even with his friend’s guidance, LeFou’s legs are like pudding; he stumbles forward and falls to the bed on his gut, immediately yelping out and rolling to his side with a nauseated hiccup. And then another. And another.

He scoots back up against the pillows that had been set up for him previously, a hiccuping, sobbing, gorgeous mess. “Ughh,” he hics, tearing violently at the bow at his neck until it’s untied and strewn carelessly across the floor.

“Why would you do this to me?”

He claws at the buttons of his waistcoat, babbling as he works, but with his blurred vision he barely manages to successfully undo one.

“...Get me drunk…”

The distance is closed between them when Gaston places his lips against LeFou’s - perfectly locked together, his long dark hair falling like curtains around them. His fingers move deftly against LeFou’s waistcoat buttons as they kiss with fervor. He swallows a sob, and then a whimper; mouths plastered together until LeFou is calm and hiccup-free, compliant beneath him.

He pets the top of LeFou’s head, taming the wild stray hairs fallen from his ribbon.

“Do you think you can eat for me?” he asks, using the side of his fork to cut a small chunk of cake from the plate, raising it to LeFou’s mouth.

“There are two,” LeFou giggles, tears stinging in the corner of his eyes, “which one do I eat?”

Gaston snickers, hand running down the man's chubby face, thumb tucking its way in past his lips. LeFou’s mouth opens wide instinctively; allows Gaston's thumb to hook onto his lower teeth, stretching him open wider.

Gaston plucks the piece of cake from his fork and tosses it into LeFou's mouth, removing his thumb and coolly forcing his jaw shut. His spit-slick thumb swipes over glossy, pink lips as LeFou chews.

“It’s too sweet,” he lazily shakes his head, swallowing. “Maybe bread would be a better absorbent.”

“I had this cake baked specially for your birthday,” Gaston frowns. “You’re not going to let it go to waste?”

“It’ll be good in the morning,” LeFou yawns, shrugging out of his waistcoat.

And then he’s being dragged by the feet until he's flat on his back, Gaston untying the fly front of his trousers to help ease the nausea; crawling atop him, blocking LeFou in against the mattress with his thighs tight on either side of his hips. Gaston’s eyes are dark with lust and heavy-lidded as he speaks,

“But I want to taste the icing on your tongue _now_.”

He watches LeFou squirm underneath him when he leans forward, putting the barest of pressure against his friend's gut. He moans and wriggles under Gaston’s weight, wincing in discomfort; but despite it all, he looks up with dopey eyes and grins.

“Are you a witch,” he says drunkenly, “like in _Hansel and Gretel_?”

Gaston prepares another bite of cake, watching LeFou with slitted eyes as he massages his temple, drawing his hands down to rub at his eyes.

“You're like a devil, fattening me up to eat me,” he laughs, accepting the cake Gaston holds at his lips.

“You look delicious enough to gobble up,” Gaston says, another small piece of cake at the ready, “but I'm simply the Gaston you've always known.”

LeFou hums, eyes slipping closed.

“Well I have news for you,” he mumbles jovially, chewing and swallowing the next piece of cake, “I'm fat enough, Gaston, I don't need your assistance.”

Gaston’s eyes meet LeFou's when the latter dares to steal another glance upwards.

“I don't think the cake is working, I'm still drunk as hell.”

And then Gaston is all over him, pushing his chemise up to his pecs to reveal his bare stomach, kissing him everywhere, groping his hips and thighs and groin. He drags his teeth over LeFou's unbelievably soft, dewy flesh, tender and quivering beneath him with every touch.

“You wouldn’t believe how attractive you are like this,” Gaston rambles against his skin. “Like an expectant mother, all helpless and soft.”

LeFou moans and snaps his hips forward; groans in pain when he's moved too much and feels as though he might vomit.

“This is ridiculous,” he laughs, but Gaston remains relentless, pressing his body into LeFou's to elicit throaty groans; shuffling forward to straddle LeFou's ribcage and occasionally teasing LeFou cruelly by leaning back against his bloated stomach.

He scoops at the cake with his fingers - fork be damned - pressing sweet fluffy confectionery into LeFou's panting mouth, sealing it with another violent kiss until LeFou has no choice but to swallow.

“You can handle more, can't you?”

LeFou swats at the cup of water on the night table, hand flopping about until he reaches it successfully and brings it close to take a drink.

“Maybe a little bit more,” LeFou whines. “It _is_ delicious, for the record.” 

Again, Gaston pushes a handful of cake onto LeFou's tongue, only this time LeFou is able to catch Gaston's wrist, keeps him there to lick the icing from his palm; sucks the icing from each finger.

Sweet vanilla floods his palate; the scent of cake and sweat and sex hangs in the air.

A dot of icing blemishes LeFou's nose and Gaston bends over to lick it off. “Are you full?” he hisses, clawing matted hair out of his eyes. “Do you have room for me, my dear LeFou?”  
  
LeFou's lashes flutter. His glazed-over eyes slip halfway closed upon noticing the insistent erection between Gaston's legs, pressing tight at the front of his trousers.

“Oh,” he gasps, “mm-hm.”

His mouth opens as though it was trained to, waiting for Gaston to untie his fly and reveal himself; watching with tired eyes as two Gastons pump themselves to complete readiness. His tongue lolls out past his teeth to accept the weight of Gaston's cock once he's shuffled up on the mattress, close enough for LeFou to easily take him in.

And then it’s just one Gaston, in full focus: one perfect Gaston, with one perfect trail of hair tickling at LeFou’s nose, making LeFou gag and moan and grapple at one perfectly chiseled ass to steady himself.

“LeFou,” he growls out; holds to the headboard of LeFou's bed for support. He moves slowly in deep, deliberate thrusts that reach the back of LeFou's throat.

 _So_ , so good--

LeFou rocks his body up in response, but his gut still aches from eating and he grunts in regret.

But his stomach isn’t the only thing that’s aching - LeFou’s cock hasn’t been touched whatsoever. He can feel it throbbing, twitching just barely free of his trousers; had almost been able to orgasm from the mere thought of Gaston fucking his throat, but no such luck.

Every little moan and hum vibrates against the cock in his throat and makes Gaston shudder, until finally--

“I'm--!” Gaston grunts, stilling his hips, forehead pressed against the wall. He growls, weaving his fingers through LeFou’s hair and holding on tight as he rides out his orgasm, coming in hot spurts down his friend’s throat; coating his tongue.

He stays inside; can feel the back of LeFou’s throat contract as he swallows around him.

“You’re the best,” he sighs.

LeFou coughs as Gaston pulls out, panting desperately for air. “I’m going to puke,” he whines, eyes watering. “Are you going to touch me?”

Gaston chortles; leans over to the night table and runs his finger through the cake’s icing.

“That’s all I ever want to do.”

He shuffles his hips down, making LeFou wince as he moves his weight over his gut, and then he’s finally settled between LeFou’s legs, dragging LeFou’s trousers down with one hand and running his iced finger along the underside of LeFou’s cock.

It makes the smaller man flinch in shock, hissing; arching his back, eager to press himself into Gaston’s touch.

“Please,” he begs, drunk and needy.

Gaston sucks what’s left of the icing off of his finger before leaning forward; hands clawing down the sides of LeFou’s chest, stopping on either side of his stomach to support him as he leans into suckle at LeFou’s erection. Licking a stripe up the underside; taking small, slow licks to clear it partially of vanilla icing and finally taking it into his mouth to suck it clean.

LeFou gasps out; clutches at the quilts with one hand and Gaston’s hair with the other.

Gaston’s lips have left his cock, but his fingers dance over the tip, teasing him with his thumb, wrapping around his shaft tightly. It doesn’t take long for LeFou’s mind to go blank; for his drunken libido to cause him to spill messily across Gaston’s hand, crying out in both discomfort and pleasure.

His eyes are screwed shut; he wills himself not to be sick, but he can feel the liquid in his stomach moving with every gasp for breath.

Gaston raises to his knees, well spent. As a final unspoken request, he holds his hand out for LeFou to lick clean.

And he does.

“You don’t need to be a Saint to celebrate your birthday, Lazare,” Gaston smiles, eyelids heavy. He lays down and LeFou scoots over on the bed to give Gaston room. “You’re a saint for putting up with me.”

It might be true.

LeFou’s head is aching, his throat is sore. He’s too full, with a stomach ache that he doesn’t think will ever go away. He’s exhausted and sticky and wholly satisfied.

“Well,” he says, wrapping himself and Gaston in blankets once more, “I can’t say it was an _unmemorable_ day. You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?”

He smiles; turns to kiss Gaston goodnight, expecting a boastful response, but the second Gaston’s head touches the pillow, he’s out.

**Author's Note:**

> When I used the name "Lazare," it refers to Saint Lazare de Béthanie, a saint of the 12th century. I was inspired by Name Day, in which parents would name their children after saints that share the same birthday. Whether you want to think of this as LeFou's first name, or just a playful nickname that Gaston uses, it's up to you, idc.
> 
> You can always reach me at @riachinko on Twitter or @rudigerblues on Tumblr! ^o^


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